


unzip the back (to watch it fall)

by NaomiGnome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tailor!AU, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/pseuds/NaomiGnome
Summary: Jaime is a tailor at The Kingsguard Tailors. Brienne Tarth comes in to be measured.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 60
Kudos: 240





	unzip the back (to watch it fall)

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to the thirst channel on discord. You know who you are. This is un-beta-ed and unedited for the most part. Also, I know almost nothing about sewing or tailoring and I looked at an instruction video to see how to measure someone, it is alarmingly intimate even at a professional level. All mistakes are mine.

The bell above chimed quietly, as the red door swung open slowly. Jaime eyed the entrance from the back room, the people who shopped at The Kingsguard Tailors were very rarely there in the morning. Their usual clientele were rarely awake before nine. He was not even in his usual uniform, preferring the comfort of a plain black button up and easy slacks that were still tailored, but had more movement available to him when he was working the pedal. He grimaced at the thought of having to hastily change into his store uniform in order to service this walk-in. 

A man, as far as he could tell, with broad shoulders. The possible client was quite tall, and awkward, and stood without any sort of confidence whatsoever, turned away from Jaime’s observations and looking at all the display suits. He actually just stood there, and waited. Jaime sighed and stood up from his work desk, eyeing his uniform hanging neatly behind him and promptly decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble. The man looked lost anyway. 

He stepped out into the foyer of the store, and the man immediately turned to attention. As Jaime approached he could see the man was a giant, at least coming to his height if not taller, wearing ill fitting jeans and a black Winterfell t-shirt. So, no accounting for taste. The man was definitely not a usual shopper off of Red Keep Drive. Blonde hair, paler than his own, hung limply around the man's head and poorly framed a face only a mother can love. Crooked nose, thick lips, and sunglasses with large round lenses that obscured her eyes and the rest of their face. Even in his black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and slacks, Jaime was better dressed than this--

“Is that a woman?” the words left his mouth before he could even process them, stopping a foot away from the person standing in his foyer.

He-- _She_ furrowed her brow, and stiffened immediately. In a hard voice, that was low enough to be a man’s but too soft to be anything but a woman’s, “I was referred here by a friend, because I need a dress for a formal banquet.”

Jaime scoffed, “A friend? Maybe you got the wrong place, my lady. You hardly look like you’re a standard size for any of our dresses, and you’re hardly dressed to look like you could afford a custom one.” 

The woman straightened even taller and stiffer, like she was bracing herself. She reached for her sunglasses and pried them off her face in an act of controlled anger. Jaime was met with the bluest eyes he had ever seen, like someone had swathed her irises in the deepest blue velvet and lined it with the softest blue silk. They were---

“Eyes,” he said aloud, dumbly, with his mouth slightly gaped. 

Her forehead wrinkled even more, and she spoke again. Jaime had always favored himself as a realist, where Addam called him dramatic without cause, but in this moment, her voice sounded like condemnation.  


“Maybe I do have the wrong place, ser. Marge told me that this is the most reputable tailor in King’s Landing, but I doubt reputable places would have,” she appraised him fiercely, as if sizing him up for a fight, “--such _unprofessional_ employees.” She faltered, and a look of disappointment washed over her, at herself or at him, he didn’t know, but Jaime immediately felt a semblance of shame.

Behind him the back curtain swished, and the giant woman’s eyes lit up in recognition, “Loras!” 

The way she said his fellow tailor’s name unfurled a feeling in Jaime’s stomach and the thought came to Jaime unbidden, _Wait, say my name like that. Say my name!_

“Brienne!” Loras greeted, “What are you doing here?”

Brienne, Jaime cleverly deduced, replied back, “Marge sent me here for a dress for the banquet.” 

“Oh, yes, Marge said you would come by but I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

Jaime cleared his throat and paused when her blue eyes flickered to his again. He swallowed and spoke, “Well, I see you’re all acquainted. I’ll leave you, my lady, in Loras’ hands. Although, I’m not sure they’re quite big enough to handle all of you.” 

He sauntered away, but not before catching a glance at Loras’ disbelieving face and Brienne’s blue eyes clouding in an unnamable emotion. 

“Don’t worry about him...he’s insufferable. Let’s talk about your dress.”

******

He had returned to his sewing, while keenly listening at the muffled voices of Loras and Brienne in between steps. At one point she laughed, and Jaime bit down the urge to come back out and see the laugh in her face. In her eyes. In--

“ _Fuck!_ ” as his needle broke suddenly and his machine came to screeching halt. He heard the bell chime again and sighed. If Loras was still with Brienne, then he needed to go out and see who this new person was. 

Just then, Loras swished past the curtain and into the back room, grabbing Jaime’s attention with an impatient wave.

Jaime addressed him with an equal distaste.

“I don’t want to ask you this--”

“Then don’t.”

Loras frowned at him. “You need to go take Brienne’s measurements. She’s in dressing room three.”

“Why am I doing your job again?”

“Because, it’s either go take Brienne’s measurements, or go assist _Lysa Tully_ with her second fitting. Which I know you won’t after she nearly jumped your bones the last time you helped her.” 

Jaime grimaced, between helping Brienne with the eyes and Lysa “our parents made us go on one arranged date and now she thinks they’re _betrothed_ ” Tully, Brienne was the clear choice. 

“Okay, you owe me though,”

Loras rolled his eyes and muttered, “More like you owe me.”

******

Jaime opened the door to dressing room number three to find Brienne standing in the middle of it, eyeing herself critically in the three-fold mirror standing against one corner. In her very practical creme underwear and miles of--

“Legs,” Jaime croaked, his throat suddenly drier than the desert. 

Brienne started, and spun to face him, eyes wide. She pointlessly shielded herself by placing one long arm across her chest and another awkwardly across her pelvis as her eyes narrowed, “You’re very good at naming random body parts.” 

Jaime cleared his throat and found his senses, “Well, you have them.” _Nailed it._

Brienne just looked more confused, her body still tense and shielded. “Where is Loras?”

“Indisposed,” he very obviously gave her an up-down, lingering on the flex of her thighs as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, “Don’t worry, I’m only here to take your measurements, per his request. I’m actually the head tailor here, Jaime Lannister at your service.”

She still looked overly suspicious. 

Jaime approached her casually, “Relax, I’m not interested.”

Brienne started again to attention, eyeing his forearms with a look Jaime was very familiar with. His eyes flicked to her face when she subconsciously licked her lips, and he unconsciously licked his in return. His eyes glinted in amusement, “Do you wish I was?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she had straightened again as she had outside, stiff and sturdy, like a wall. Her own fathomless blue eyes assessed him. He was still wearing his black button up, sleeves rolled at the elbow. His slacks were tailored perfectly to his legs, as a mark of his profession, they sat on his hips and stretched comfortably across his thighs. Behind his ear he had tucked a pen to mark the measurements, and wound between his hands was a measuring tape.

“No,” she replied coolly with a slight stutter at the end that he would’ve missed if he weren’t listening so intently at the sound of her breath, “Sure you can handle it though? You seemed to think I would be quite the handful for Loras.” 

He snapped the length of measuring tape hanging between his fists taut.

The result was instantaneous, her eyes went wide and a flush bloomed from her face and spread down her neck, brushing over her collarbones and flowing into the dip of her bra. 

“Calm down, wench,” he chuckled in a low voice, that betrayed how much he was going to be thinking about the rosy flecks of her freckles in the coming hours. Days. Weeks. “I’m strong enough.”

She swallowed visibly, and he followed the movement in her throat like a lion assessing prey. So much--

“Neck,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Excuse me?” she squeaked, “And my name isn’t wench, my name is Brienne Tarth.” 

He cleared his throat again. _I need to increase my water intake,_ he though absently. “Okay, Brienne. Measurements, I won’t bite.” _I want to._ “I am a professional. I just want your measurements. I’ll be in, then out.” Brienne bit her lip, and his eyes flickered to her mouth again, “And you probably won’t see me again, considering I don’t even specialize in women’s evening wear.” 

She swallowed again, and straightened, ready for him. _To measure her._ , he reminded himself. 

He loosened the measuring tape and stood inches from her. _She’s a little taller than me_ , he thought and licked his lips in anticipation. She had, according to his hearing, stopped breathing. 

“Raise your arms,” he said lowly, and he wrapped the measuring tape around her torso and across her chest, brushing her sides lightly. He ignored the sudden thrill from the brief touch. _I am a professional, godsdammit._ He brought the measuring tape against her chest across the strip of bra and flesh where he knew her nipples ran along. They had pebbled in response to the disturbance. “You need to breathe out or the dress will suffocate you, wench.”

She exhaled slowly, and her breath warmed his face. It smelled faintly of lavender and tea, and where she exhaled her chest expanded slowly to press against his measuring tape and the fingers holding it there. 

Jaime dropped the tape from her torso, and reached for his pen. _Shit, I forgot paper._ He quickly wrote the number on top of his forearm. Brienne with her arms still lightly spread was making an absolute effort to not look at him. 

He stepped forward again, this time wrapped his arms and the measuring tape around her waist. The narrowest part was hard to find but he ran his thumbs along her sides, the bare skin making his fingers tingle, looking for the all familiar dip that marked her waist. He pulled the measuring tape against the skin, but not so snug that she would be unable to breathe. Speaking of--

“You need to exhale.” She did shakily. He released the tape and wrote the second number on his forearm, below her chest measurement. 

Jaime wrapped the tape around her back again, ignoring every synapse tingling from the cloud of lust that had been cast in his brain. He was acutely aware of the goosebumps that rose from her flushed skin, as he trailed the measuring tape down to her hips.

 _One tug, and she’d be pressed against him._ He shook the thought from his head as he wrote down the hip measurement. 

“I’ll need your help for this next one,” Jaime’s voice came out much rougher than he hoped, but she was so red in the face, he didn’t think she noticed. He took the top end of this measuring tape and pressed it lightly into the hollow of her throat with his thumb, grasping the back of her neck with the curl of his hand. She had stopped breathing again, her eyes, wide and blue and--

 _Too close, too close. Jaime, it is unprofessional to get a raging erection when taking measurements. Stop._

“I need you to hold this part of the measuring tape here, and keep your neck and body straight.” He said in a clear voice that might’ve been too loud, “I’m going to go down on you--”

Her body flared like a beacon, but she didn’t move and Jaime felt his own cheeks heat, “I mean go down and get the measurement to the floor and to your hemline.” he finished roughly, “Can you do that?”

She nodded and reached, pressing one of her long fingers against the hollow of her throat where the measuring tape began. Jaime extracted his own hand carefully, and then trailed the tail end of the tape straight along her body, stooping and settling on his knees to get the final number on the floor. 

From his position on his knees, he looked up at Brienne on the ground. From here she looked like a mountain to climb. Every freckle was a landmark to stop and explore. He was never a man of the Gods, but here, in the lowlight of the dressing room, where the light hit her pale hair like a halo, he felt like worshipping. In this light, she could be a beauty. She could be a knight. He willed his sudden downstairs friend to calm down, thought briefly of things that would ease the grip of want. 

_Think of things that don’t turn you on. Broken needles, Aunt Genna, sepsis, denim speedos, poorly groomed facial hair._

Her low voice came like a call from the heavens, “Everything okay down there?”

He cleared his damn throat _again_ , “Yeah, you’re just very...long.” The tops of her thighs flushed as well, it looked like. _Fuck_.

He stood up with a slow creak in his knees and wrote the measurement on his forearm. Brienne was making a good show of staring at it and then staring at the wall directly behind him over his shoulder. 

“Arms next,” he said gruffly, he was determined to finish the rest of this quickly before his boner, which had not fully subsided, made itself known to his very red client. Ignoring, every goosebump that crept on her skin and every flex her biceps and shoulders made as he quickly measured her shoulders, her arm length, her armscyes, and the particular torture of her arm being bent at angle to get her final arm measurement. 

“Last one,” he said through gritted teeth, “Going to need you against the wall.” 

He really didn’t believe she could get any redder, but at this point in the measuring, she had reached the hue only matched by his family’s old sigil.

“It’s to measure your height. It’s best against the wall.” He was hoping that his tone wasn’t lewd, but he could think of a lot of other things that would be best against the wall.  


Brienne swallowed and nodded and walked gingerly but steadily towards the back wall and leaned against it heel to head. Jaime pressed the top of the measuring tape to the top of her head, and in an act he was not consciously thinking about, grabbed her hand with his other one and pinned it to the top of her head. He held her gaze for a second too long, before letting her hold the measuring tape in place, and he trailed it down her body as before. 

_So long._

Jaime cleared his throat and wrote the final number on his arm, the list reaching just above the crook of his elbow, “You’re all done then. Was that so hard?” _I’m so hard._

She shook her head, like she didn’t trust herself to speak, before managing, “No, I suppose not. Do you need anything else from me?”

 _Yes._

“No, I’ll leave you to get dressed and hand these numbers off to Loras. Have a good day, wench.” He nodded at her before rushing out of the dressing room.

When he returned to the backroom, Jaime had felt lighter than he had in weeks. And hornier than he had ever been in his life. He replaced the broken needle in his machine and continued on his day, haunted by freckles and pale skin and blue eyes. He caught her eye as she was leaving the store, she had glanced towards the backroom, through the slip of the curtain, Jaime caught the color of her eyes, a darker blue, pupils blown with something he could feel threading through his veins.

*****

Loras came in later, “Do you have Brienne’s measurements? What are they?”

“Spectacular,” Jaime responded unwittingly, eyes still trained on the chugging needle.

Loras gave an amused snort, “Yeah, she’s built like a Westerosi god, but the numbers, Jaime.”

“She can have mine,”

Jaime dropped the pedal, and shot Loras a panicked, surprised look. Loras was staring at him dumbfounded, with the slightest hint of amusement. Jaime shook his head from his blue-eyed daydreams and handed Loras transposed measurements on a sheet. 

“Your numbers, huh?”

“If you’re gonna be an ass, I’ll fire you.”

“If you do that, Olenna will make your life hell.”

“Well, isn’t nepotism nice?”

“You should know.”

“Go suck a cock, Tyrell.” 

Loras laughed, “We’re designing her dress for a banquet in her honor, just so you know. She brought back that Stark girl that was kidnapped by Baelish for political power? Marge is swooning over her, says she’s like a knight come to life.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because you are also going to that banquet. Nepotism, remember? All the big families are going to be there.You probably don’t know yet, because it’s three months from now.”

Jaime frowned, he hated public functions. He chose the life of a tailor over the life of a model or designer so he could stay away from the spotlight, “Still doesn’t explain why you’re telling me.”

Loras laughed as he left the room, “She needs a date, and I’d say you’re pretty swoony too. We’re putting her in blue.”

Jaime flipped him off, and moved to continue sewing. _Blue. Blue would match her eyes._

******

Three weeks later, the bell chimed above the swinging red door of The Kingsguard Tailors again. Brienne stepped in, same ill-fitting jeans and a loose Knights jersey hanging off her muscled frame. 

Jaime emerged from the back immediately. Loras had called out, claiming sick, but Jaime had heard Renly Boratheon’s stupid giggle in the background, so it was only Jaime at the store today. 

Brienne straightened as soon as she saw him, no less uncomfortable, but a little less stiff. How stiff could you be with a man who had seen you in your underwear?

Her voice said meekly, “Loras told me to come in today, said it was time for my fitting.”

Hearing her voice again sent blood roaring into Jaime’s ears. His dreams had not replicated the timber of it to their best ability. Nevertheless, he frowned. “Loras isn’t here today, he’s sick.”

Brienne looked confused and then unimpressed, “He was fine last night when he was making out with Renly on the couch.” She blushed suddenly, realizing she had disclosed personal information that wasn’t hers. 

Jaime snorted, “Yeah, that happens. But I’ll look to see if there’s a garment bag with your name on it. Wench Tarth, right?”

He delighted in the angry flush that swept across her cheeks and collarbone, before turning on his heel and calling out behind him, “Go ahead and step into dressing room number three.” He looked back over his shoulder with a rakish grin. _I’m so cool._ “I’m sure you remember it.”

In the back room there was only one garment bag hanging on a wheeled rack, an especially large one marked _TARTH_ along with specific notes. He clenched his hand a few times, before hanging a second garment bag to the rack and wheeled it over to the entrance of dressing room three. 

She was there waiting and he handed off the first garment bag, ignoring the shock that ran up his arms, when his hand briefly brushed hers. “Let me know if you need any help in there, _Brienne_.” he said with a smirk, “And call me when you’re done putting it on so we can see what adjustments need to be made.”

“I won’t need any,” she huffed and shut the dressing room door on his face, but not before he caught the red creeping to the back of her neck and her quickened breath. 

She poked her head out moments later, looking pink in the face, “Uh, it’s on.”

Jaime’s heart clenched at the sight, how could someone be so unbearably cute and unwittingly sexy at the same time. _Where the fuck did that come from?_

He stepped into the dressing room and was hit with a wave of deja vu. His mouth had dried up, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of it. 

She was standing in the middle again, but not in her underwear. Instead, she was wearing a floor length evening gown, a shade of blue darker than her eyes. From the gown, one long leg emerged from thigh to toe, and Jaime was overcome with the need to taste the entire length of it. 

It had no sleeves, but instead held itself up from a padded bodice cut around her chest, accentuating her bare collarbones, and shoulders and the back muscles that flexed as she turned around the mirror. Her freckles speckled her skin. From either side of the back, a sheer cape fabric draped elegantly behind her. It shimmered. 

She was like the night sky itself, the moon, and the stars. 

She looked ethereal. She looked celestial. She looked---

“Uncomfortable,” Jaime murmured. 

She turned to face him, her eyes stormy but not angry. She replied mildly, “I know it doesn’t suit me, I don’t know what I was thinking, letting Loras talk me into this sort of dress. And he said Selyse had padded the bodice, as if that would make a difference--”

“Don’t misunderstand me, my lady Brienne.” His tone was light, but it was edged with an unnamed emotion.

Her eyes met his, startled and blue and as vulnerable as he’d ever seen them, he soldiered on, trying to keep track of his words while staring hopelessly into her eyes, “You look _devastating_ in that dress, and it suits you as honor suits a knight, but you, yourself look uncomfortable wearing it.” 

Brienne’s lips pressed into a thin disbelieving line, and Jaime wanted to kiss them free, “Dresses aren’t my typical choice of apparel,” she admitted, “I’m not used to seeing myself in one. I would rather not be mocked.” She sent a pointed glare at Jaime. 

“I am not mocking you. Your face isn’t much, but the dress does look astonishing. Not as astonishing as your eyes, but I digress.”

She still looked so unsure, and Jaime wanted to hide her away and keep her safe. And comfortable. And sexually satisfied. _Jaime, can you get it together. This is real life, not your dreams where she lets you live in between her thighs and--_. 

Jaime cleared his throat, “I have another option for you, if the dress doesn’t feel right for you.” She sent him a confused look as he stepped back out and grabbed the second garment bag. He pressed it into her hands. 

“It’s yours.”

“Loras didn’t mention--”

“This one is from me.” She unzipped the garment bag to reveal some cut blue silk within. She looked at him, eyes big and wide, and Jaime wanted to float in the pools of them forever, “I hope I got the measurements right, measurements needed for a suit are a little more complex than those needed for a dress. I didn’t have your in-seam measurements.” _I want to measure your inseam with my tongue._

“I--” she licked her lips and Jaime followed the movement with his eyes. “I need help unzipping the dress in order to try this on. I was able to get it on, but I don’t know how well I can do it with the hook clipped.” she said in a hushed voice. 

Jaime swallowed, “Of course.” When she turned and exposed her back to him, he could see all the freckles dotting her shoulders, the flush that poured itself over her skin. He hooked his fingers behind the dress and unhooked the secure clip holding the zipper. He painstakingly dragged the zipper down, thinking about how it would only take a second to press his lips to every vertebrae in her spine. 

Brienne stepped away suddenly with a flush, “Thank you, I’ll go ahead and try this one on too.”

Jaime nodded dumbly and stepped out of the dressing room. He took the moment to breathe deeply, committing the skin and dress to memory, while trying to keep all his carnal desire from killing him. 

She opened the door to the dressing room, and poked her head out again, cheeks as rosy as ever. 

“Uhm, I do---like this.” Before retreating back into the dressing room. He stepped back in. 

She was going to kill him. He was going to die of blue balls caused by blue eyes, and he was going to die happy for it. 

Brienne stood tall in the heels that she had brought and worn in the dress, but here with her feet exposed, she seemed even taller. The suit itself was brighter than the evening gown, he had taken care to find a silk the same shade as her eyes. The color seemed ingrained into the back of his eyelids when he closed them. The pants were well tailored, they tapered at the ankle and shaped themselves to her legs. The blazer, blue silk with black lapels, cinched at her waist at the perfect angle, only one button pulled together. She wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. He wanted to make a home in the space of her sternum, framed by blazer, shadowed by the slight swell of her breasts. His tongue was trapped in his throat. 

“Jaime,” she said, in that clear voice of hers, slightly breathless. 

For what reason, Jaime couldn’t deduce, the suit fit her perfectly. Then again, Jaime was having trouble breathing himself. _Say my name, again. Say it like that. Say it every way a person can another name._

“Jaime,” _Yes_ , his heart cried out.  


“Why did you do this?” she whispered. 

He didn’t know how to explain the feeling that had overcome him since he had taken her measurements. How when he closed his eyes all he could see was a night sky made of her freckles and eyes and skin. How he had rubbed his hand over her measurements, in the days that followed, willing them not to fade. How in the space of dressing room number three, time seemed to trickle to a stop, and all Jaime wanted to do was count and execute all the ways he could make her come and hold her against him and see her every hour for the rest of his life. 

He shrugged, “I dreamed of you.” 

A light seemed to register in Brienne’s eyes. She spoke slowly, “I don’t know how I can repay you for this, I can hardly pay for the dress Loras made for me, and even that is being mostly gifted by his grandmother.” 

Jaime shook his head, “It’s yours, I made it for you. It was always going to be yours. No payment needed.”

“I can’t accept this for free.” 

“You can have it for a kiss,” the words tumbled out of Jaime’s mouth before he could stop them. 

Brienne stiffened again, and her brow furrowed and her shoulder bunched in a way that reminded Jaime of a bird that was about to flee. He blurted out, “I’m not mocking you! I promise, but I do--” he smiled sheepishly, “--want a kiss. But I can see where that would be out of the question, I also don’t want a kiss in payment for the suit. Really, I need no payment. I’d want a kiss only if you would want to kiss me.” 

Brienne watched him fumble with his words, before straightening out again, “How about I treat you to lunch first, and then we can work out a payment plan?” Her voice was shy but forward, and Jaime latched onto it like a buoy. 

“Lunch sounds like a great start.” His nervousness shifted into a lion assessing his prey, “And I’m sure we can discuss a payment plan from there. But you can’t go to lunch in that, you might get it dirty, so why don’t I--”

“ _Get out_.” 

Jaime laughed as he exited the dressing room. Lunch, then. He wondered if she liked Dornish food. 

*****  
“Congratulations again, Ms. Tarth on your heroism to your community and the commemoration for it. You look stunning, would you share who you’re wearing tonight? That suit looks like it was tailor made for your skin!”

Brienne flushed and opened her mouth to answer, before her hand was enveloped and she felt a familiar warmth at her side. Jaime stood by her, shoulder to heel, wearing a stunning half-god smile, “It _was_ tailor made for her, Melissandre, thanks for noticing. As her boyfriend, I’m very familiar with her measurements, if I do say so myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> They do bang in dressing room three. Eventually.


End file.
